


The Sloan Diaries

by Woods2006gal



Series: Addison Sloan series [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen, Pre series, Prequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:01:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woods2006gal/pseuds/Woods2006gal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prequel to my Addison Sloan series. It's pre series. Patrick's and Addison's lives up to the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loss

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own the Supernatural characters, I do, however, own all the original characters.

 

**1973 -- Lawrence, KS**

Dean keeps the shock off of his face when he sees a young man walk into the living room. This was different then seeing his mother and meeting his grandparents for the first time. The young man was about the same height as Dean, had shaggy black hair, and dark blue eyes. “You trust me, Mr. C,” he says, smirking. “And I’m a hunter.”

“That’s different, Patrick,” the older man counters. This man was bald and in his early fifties. “I knew your dad.” The older man points to Dean. “Him. I don’t know anything about.”

“Knock it off, Samuel,” an older woman says from the other room. She was around the same age of as the older man with short blonde hair. Dean watches as she puts plates on a table in the dining room.

Samuel scoffs. “He’s a hunter.”

“Who passed your little pop quiz and now I am inviting him to dinner,” the woman says, entering the living room. “Patrick, can you get the extra chair from the basement?”

“No problem, Mrs. C,” Patrick replies and walks out of the living room.

The woman looks Dean. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” Dean answers.

The woman holds out her hand and Dean shakes it. “Good, I’m Deanna, you’ve met my husband Samuel, now wash up.”

Dean watches as Deanna walks back into the kitchen through the dining room. “Samuel and Deanna,” he asks Mary and she nods. “Really?”

* * *

Dean sat next to Patrick at the dining room table. Mary sat across from them and Deanna and Samuel sat each end of the table. Deanna touches Dean’s arm. “First time in Lawrence, Dean,” she asks.

“Well, it’s been a while. Things sure have changed...I think,” Dean answers.

“You working a job,” Samuel bluntly asks.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means I don’t trust other hunters either, Samuel.”

“Hey, so why were you following me and John,” Mary asks, breaking the tension at the table.

“Mmmm, I thought something was after your -- uh -- um...your boyfriend, but um, I don’t think that anymore.”

“John Winchester mixing it up with spirits, can you imagine,” Deanna comments.

A loud sigh comes from Samuel and Dean looks at him. “I saw that,” Mary says.

“What,” Samuel innocently asks.

“That sour lemon look.”

“Now hold on, John’s a really, really, nice...naïve civilian.”

“So what? You’d rather me be with a guy like this,” Mary asks, motioning to Dean. “Or with Patrick?”

Patrick dramatically puts his hand over his heart. “Aye, Mary, you going after my heart. But alas, the green grassy hills and barrels of Guinness are calling me back to the homeland.”

“Last time I checked, Patrick, you’re from Boston. But with the way you act, you could be from another planet.”

“That’s enough,” Deanna says before Patrick can reply. “All of you. We have company.”

“So, what about you, Samuel, you uh, working a job,” Dean asks.

“Might be,” Samuel replies.

“That’s Samuel speak for ‘yes’,” Patrick says, ignoring the look from Samuel. “He’s working a job up at the Whitshire Farm.”

“Whitshire, why does-why does that sound familiar to me,” Dean asks.

“Well, it’s been all over the papers. Tom Whitshire got tangled up in a combine a few towns over,” Samuel explains.

“That kind of thing happens.”

“So, why was he on it in the first place when his crops are all dead?”

“Demonic omens?”

“That what I gotta find out.”

“What about the rest of the town? Well, did you find anything on the web,” Dean asks and everyone stares at him. “...of information that you have assembled.

“Electrical storms maybe, the weather service graphs should be here on Friday,” Deanna informs him.

“By mail?”

“No, there’s little magical fairies that instantly bring them after you request them,” Patrick sarcastically says.

Dean laughs. “You know, it sounds to me like we might be hunting the same thing. You know, if we go in there in numbers, we could take care of this thing real quick,” he tells Samuel.

Samuel stares at him. “What part of we work alone do you not understand, son?”

* * *

Seventeen-year-old Patrick Liam Sloan was sitting at the desk in his small bedroom. A pair of headphones was on his head while the other end was plugged into an eight track he had saved up for and brought. A knock on the door causes him to turn and see, Dean, the visiting hunter. “What are you listening to,” Dean asks. Patrick takes off the headphones and hands them to Dean. He watches as the hunter listens for a second, then passes the headphones back. “Elton John?”

“Hey, Elton is awesome,” Patrick replies, turning back to his homework.

“How do you know, uh, the Campbells?”

“My dad was friends with Samuel.”

Dean nods. “And your dad dropped you off...” He trails off when Patrick stares at him and he forces a smile.

“My dad died three years ago. A wendigo got him,” Patrick softly explains. He was still having a hard time dealing with his father’s death. It hadn’t been easy wondering around the woods of northern California and stumbling upon the half eaten corpse of his father lying. “And my mum died in a car accident when I was five. Do you need more of my life story?”

Dean shakes his head. “I’m good. Where’s Mary?”

“Probably downstairs in the den.”

Dean turns and starts out of the room, but he stops seeing the envelope in the trashcan. He picks it up and sees the logo for the University of Kansas. “You’re going to college?”

“That’s something the guidance counselor made me do. I don’t know what I want to do, but I’d like to go back home. To Ireland.”

* * *

Patrick stares in disbelief as the body of Deanna Campbell was wheeled out of the house. He never expected after staying late at the library to discuss Star Trek with his friends to come home and find Deanna dead. A car pulls up and he turns to see Mary and John climb out. Patrick knows by the look on Mary’s face that someone else died.

It’s after the cops have allowed that to enter the house, that Mary finds Patrick packing a bag. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing,” Patrick mutters.

“That you’re getting ready to go out and do something that’s going to get you killed.” Patrick stills and Mary sighs. “I’m staying with John and he said that you’re welcomed to stay too.”

“I’m tired of losing people,” he softly says.

“Me too, Patrick. I’m done with the job. I’m going to live a safe, normal life with John. This job takes away people we love. I’ve lost both my parents now, you’ve lost your dad. And I don’t know about you, but that’s too many people for me.”

Patrick remains silent. “You, uh, you don’t think John would have a problem with me staying with you guys until my birthday, do you? It’d make things easier. Less questions asked, you know.”

“It’s not a problem.”


	2. Meet the Sloans

 

**1975 -- London, England**

Patrick places the crate of roses on the top of the others. He looks up to see a red headed woman walking towards him. The woman had her head buried in a book and wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings. He notices a car speeding down the street and that she was close to crossing the street. Patrick runs over to her and grabs her arm. The car speeds past them and the woman stares at him. “Thanks,” she softly says. He notices that she’s wearing glasses.

“It’s no problem,” Patrick replies, giving her a smile. He lets go of the woman’s arm and walks back over to the crates.

The woman follows him. “I get so into reading my books sometimes, that I forget where I even am,” the woman tells him and Patrick looks at her. She holds out her hand. “Juliet.” 

Patrick grabs her hand and shakes. “Patrick.”

“You have to let me make it up to you. I mean, you saved my life, the least I can do is buy you dinner.” 

Patrick smiles and grabs a rose. He hands it to Juliet. “Well, then I insist that you pick me up no later than eight.”

Juliet laughs. “There’s a pub not far from here, the Iron Rose. Um, I’ll meet you there around, say, eight.”

“It’s a date.”

* * *

Patrick yawns as he stretches in bed. The spot next to him was empty but he could hear the shower running. He never expected that one date would turn into something more over the past few months. He had been living in London for almost five months, which was the longest he ever stayed someplace since leaving Lawrence shortly after his eighteenth birthday. He had stayed in Boston for a couple of months, then bounced around Ireland for a year before making his way to London. He never expected to meet someone he could see himself spending the rest of his life with and he certainly didn’t expect Juliet to ask him to move in after only knowing each other for a month.

They had things in common, like how both of their parents had died (hers in a car crash when she was sixteen, his mother in a car crash when he was five and his father in a ‘hunting accident’ when he was fifteen). They both considered themselves nerds and lovers of anything sci-fi. She had turned him into a _Doctor Who_ fan and he had turned her into a _Star Trek_ fan. And they both loved playing _Dungeons and Dragons_. They also loved going to concerts and hanging out in a pub with friends. All in all, it was a normal life that Patrick loved.

Patrick smiles as Juliet walks into the room wrapped in a towel. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to turn down the morning shag otherwise I’ll be late for my exam,” Juliet tells him, moving over to the dresser. 

“I’ll confess that I wasn’t even thinking about that, but now that you said something, I can’t stop thinking about it,” Patrick replies, sitting up.

“If you weren’t thinking about a morning shag, then what were you thinking about?”

“This. Us. About how this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time. I love you.”

Juliet stands there for a second, then walks over and pulls him into a soft kiss. “I love you too.” 

 

**March 17, 1979**

Patrick rolls his eyes and sits on the edge of the hospital bed. He held a small pink bundle in his arms. He smiles when the baby blinks her eyes at him. “I don’t know, Jules,” he says. “She doesn’t seem like a Joan to me. What about Charlotte?” 

His wife of two years shakes her head. They had gotten married in a small ceremony with a few of their friends to witness it. “No. I don’t see a Charlotte,” Juliet replies. “Why is it that all the names we liked last week, don’t seem to fit?”

“We didn’t have her last week.” 

“Good point. Did you pack the name book?”

“Yeah.” Patrick hands the baby to Juliet and climbs off the bed. He searches through a bag and pulls out a book. “Are we gonna go through the entire book until we find a name that fits? Cause I think that might take a while, love.” 

“What about Victoria, Pat?”

“No. Margaret?”

“Oh dear God, no. Elizabeth?” 

They look at each other. “No,” they say at the same time.

“Addison,” Patrick asks, looking up from the book.

Juliet smiles and looks at the baby. “She looks like a Addison to me. Addison Bridget Sloan.”

“Addison Bridget Sloan,” Patrick repeats and kisses Juliet on the cheek. “That didn’t take long to name her.”

* * *

Patrick yawns as he sits down on the couch with his new born daughter. Her head was covered in a few wisps of red hair. He lightly rubs her back. “Ads, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you have a good life,” he softly says. “You’re going to go with me and your mum here. I’m not going anywhere and I’m pretty sure your mum isn’t either. We’re already saving up to move out of the city. We’ll get a house with a yard and a dog. But a manly dog, you know. Not one of the balls of fur Jules wants. But I promise, Ads, that I am going to do everything I can to give you a normal and safe life.”

 

 

**June 15, 1979**

Juliet silently sets the small bag on the floor. The apartment was silent. Patrick was at work. She looks in the crib to find three month old Addison sleeping. She brushes the soft fuzz on top of Addison’s head. “Where are you going?” 

Juliet turns to see Patrick standing the doorway. “I don’t want this anymore,” she says, avoiding his gaze. “This is what you wanted. Not what I wanted.”

Patrick walks into the room. “Then look me in the eye and tell me that, Jules.”

“Patrick--” 

“Do it.” Juliet shakes her head. Tears slip out. “Juliet, what’s going on? You’ve been distant for the past week.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” 

Patrick chuckles. “There’s a lot that I believe in.” 

She looks up at her husband. Slowly, Juliet confesses about the deal she had made when she was sixteen years old. A deal that resulted in the deaths of her abusive parents and that had left her a small amount that she used to pay for school. Patrick walks out of the nursery and Juliet follows him into their bedroom. She watches as he walks over to the closet. “What are you doing?” 

“How long do you have until the hell hounds come,” he asks. She looks over his shoulder to see a hollowed out hole in the bottom of the closet. Weapons and a couple of books were in the hole.

“You have guns in our home? You know--”

“Juliet, how long do you have until the hell hounds come?”

Juliet sighs. “Two days.”

“The seventeenth?” 

“Patrick, I want to spend my last days with you and Addie.”

* * *

Patrick tightens his grip on Addison as Juliet prepares to make her way out to the Moor. It was an area where numerous legends of black dogs and other creatures were said to roam. And it was that reason that Patrick had suggested a trip there. He knew people would think that he was crazy, that the police would think he was the reason behind his wife’s death. “What was the real reason you made the deal,” Patrick quietly asks.

“I told you, I couldn’t take my dad beating me and my mum standing there do nothing anymore,” Juliet answers, pulling on her coat.

“I believe you, Juliet. But I also get the feeling there’s more to the story. And I know that whatever money they had left you has nothing to do with it. Please tell me the truth.” 

Juliet looks away. “I was pregnant. I had just found out and I was scared of what my dad would do. My mum always stood there while he hit me. She never lifted a finger to help me. And I knew that would ever change. So, I ran. I just left. Then I met this man who said that he could make everything okay, that I wouldn’t have to worry about my parents anymore. And that all I had to give in exchange was my soul in ten years. I -- I said yes without thinking. I mean, I didn’t actually think that would happen. Then earlier this week, I...I started seeing things. Peoples face were messed up and I kept hearing dogs howling.”

Patrick stares at her. “What happened to the baby?”

“I gave him up for adoption. I -- I don’t know where he is or anything. I didn’t want to know. I mean, I was only sixteen, Pat. You -- you don’t exactly seemed freaked out or think that I’m lying or anything.”

“My family...this was my job. Going after things that people think aren’t real. It’s been the Sloan family job for hundreds of years.” Patrick shifts the sleeping Addison and runs a hand over his face. “I thought I had finally gotten out. That I was going to have a normal life and a family.”

“You can still have that, Patrick. You and Addie will have that. I know you will. You’ll meet someone new and have a family with her.” Juliet sits down next to him on the bed and grabs his free hand. “And I know that you’ll do everything you can to give Addie the best life that you can. I love you both so, so much.”

Patrick kisses his wife for the last time, each of them ignoring their tears. Juliet presses a soft to Addison’s forehead before standing up. “I love you,” Patrick tells her. Juliet shoots him a sad smile and walks out of the motel room. He places Addison in a borrowed crib and settles in with a bottle of whiskey.

* * *

Four days had passed since Juliet’s death and Patrick had barely been able to hold it together. Addison had been crying nonstop and nothing he did could quiet her. It had only been four days and everything was falling apart. He couldn’t take it anymore. It was the exact reason why he had found the nearest crossroads and was currently digging a small hole. “I can’t let you do this, Patrick.” 

Patrick turns and sees a young woman. She had obviously been out earlier in the evening going by the clothes she was wearing. She had long blonde hair and dark make up on. “Who the hell are you? And how do you know my name,” he demands. 

“My name is Sarah and I’m an angel.” 

“Bullshit. Angels don’t exist.” 

Thunder booms and lightening flashes to reveal a pair of black wings emitting from the young woman’s back. She walks towards him and Patrick pulls out the knife his father had left him. Sarah grabs his wrist and instantly, they’re back in his apartment. Addison was crying and the neighbors were banging on the wall. He follows Sarah into the nursery and watches as she lays a hand on Addison’s chest. The crying infant immediately grows quiet. “What did you do to my daughter,” he demands, pushing the angel out of the way.

“Even babies get headaches. I merely cured it,” Sarah answers. “Addison’s important, Patrick, and she needs you to be there for as long as you can.” 

“What do you mean she’s important? Important to who?”

“I can’t say. I’m not even supposed to be here. If any of my brothers found out, I’d be severely punished. But just know that she’s important and she needs you to teach her about the monsters you fought.” 

Patrick shakes his head. “No, no, no, my -- my daughter is going to have a normal life. She’s not going to be involved with anything related to hunting.”

“You need to teach her so she can have a fighting chance.” Sarah moves close to him. “There are things that have been in motion for an extremely long time, Patrick. And if you go after Crowley--” 

“Who’s Crowley?” 

“He’s the demon that made the deal with Juliet. I believe he’s referred to as King of the Crossroads.”

“Tell me everything about him." 

Sarah sighs. “I will give you all the information about Crowley that I can, but only on the condition that you teach Addison about hunting.”

Patrick stares at the angel. “Okay.”


	3. When Music Was Still On MTV

 

**January 1982 -- Lawrence, KS**

Patrick parks the car in front of the house in suburban Lawrence. He looks in the backseat and sees Addison sleeping. He climbs out of the car and takes her out of the car seat, amused when she doesn’t wake up. She was a lot like Juliet in that way. He grabs a backpack and quietly closes the door before making his way to the house. He knocks on the door and after a moment, it opens to reveal a blonde woman. “Hi, Mary,” Patrick greets, shuffling Addison in his arms. 

Mary smiles and hugs Patrick. “And who is this,” she asks, looking at the little girl.

“This is Addison, my daughter. Can I come in and talk?”

“Of course,” Mary replies and Patrick enters. Mary closes the door. “John’s at work. And you can put her in Dean’s room while he’s napping.” 

“Dean,” Patrick asks as Mary leads him upstairs.

“Mine and John’s son. He’ll be three in a couple of weeks. How old is Addison?”

“She'll be three in March. But I’m guessing that you and John have been married longer than I was.” They enter a bedroom. The walls were painted blue. A dresser and a rocking chair were by a window. Toys were scattered on the floor. In the corner was a child sized bed with a small boy stretched out. 

“You were married? Patrick Sloan, I never thought I’d see the that happened.”

Patrick sadly smiles. “Yeah, I know.” He lays Addison on the bed and smiles when she rolls onto her stomach. “Do you have some tea?”

“Of course,” Mary answers and they walk out of the room. 

“You named Dean after your mum?” 

“It’s my way of honoring her. So, tell me about your wife?”

“Uh, Juliet was...she was amazing. She was smart, beautiful, and she loved _Star Trek_ and _Star Wars._ She made me do all the cooking since she was crap at it.”

Mary frowns. “You keep saying was.”

“She died last year when the, uh, the hellhound came to collect on the deal she had made.”

Mary sits down and places a comforting hand on his arm. “Patrick, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. But I’m doing better. Addison is great. She’s growing like a weed. And I figured that we needed a new start, it’s why we moved back to the states. I figured I’d pop in, see how you and John were doing before we head to Lincoln.” 

“Well, then, I insist you guys stay here for a few days.”

* * *

Patrick sits on the back porch, watching Addison playing in the snow with Dean. The door opens and he looks up to see John standing there. Patrick stands up, shoving his hands in his jeans. “Look, John, me and Ads will be out of here in a few days,” Patrick says. 

John shakes his head. “No. Mary explained what happened and you’re both welcome to stay here as long as you want, Patrick. Mary considers you family and that means you’re part of our family.”

“I really appreciate that,” Patrick replies. “I just...thanks. I mean it.”

“Daddy!” Patrick turns and sees Addison standing up. She held a handful of snow and waved her arm. Patrick smiles walks over to her. “Daddy!”

Patrick grins and scoops her up. “For me?” She nods and he takes the handful of snow, with a grin. “Thank you.” 

John scoops Dean up as Mary walks onto the porch. “It’s awful, what happened to his wife,” he says. “Didn’t Patrick’s mother die in a car accident too?”

“She did,” Mary confirms.

John shakes his head. “That’s horrible.”

* * *

“Daddy,” Addison exclaims and runs into the bedroom. Patrick looks up from the suitcase he was packing and laughs when he notices her holding a small, toy fire truck. He picks her up and places on her the bed. 

“Did you take that from Dean,” Patrick asks and Addison shakes her head, causing the red curls to swing in the air. “Addison.”

“I borrowed it,” Addison answers, smiling. 

“She took it!” Addison drops the truck on the bed. Patrick turns to see Dean standing the doorway with Mary behind him. “Mommy, Addison took my truck.” 

Addison holds out her hands. “No, I didn’t.” 

Patrick sets Addison on the floor. He grabs the truck off the bed and hands it to her, then pushes her towards Dean. “Addison, give Dean back his truck.” Reluctantly, Addison hands the truck to Dean. “And what do you say for taking it.”

“Sorry,” Addison tells Dean.

“Dean, why don’t you and Addison go play in your room,” Mary says and Dean pulls Addison out of the room.

“Don’t take my toys,” Dean says from down the hallway.

Mary eyes the suitcase. “So, when were you going to tell me that you were leaving?”

“At dinner,” Patrick asks. “I really appreciate you and John letting me and Ads stay here, but...it’s been a couple of days and we need to get out of here.” He grabs a newspaper and hands it to Mary. “I found a job in Lincoln. Just a simple salt and burn.”

“Patrick, do you really think it’s a good idea to take Addison with you on a hunt?”

“Addison is my daughter. And she goes where I go. Besides, there’s florist in Lincoln hiring. I’ll live there for a while.”

“Don’t you want her to have a home and normal life?”

Patrick sighs. “I do. I really do, but it’s been a year and a half since Juliet died. And I know you probably think it’s selfish, but hunting is the only thing that seems to make sense to me. So, don’t try and talk me out of it.” 

Mary shakes her head. “You shouldn’t raise Addison like that, Patrick.” 

“I don’t tell you how to raise your kid, so don’t tell me how to raise mine, okay.” 

Mary sighs, knowing there was no use arguing with him. “Just...keep in touch for Addison’s sake.”

 

**February 1984**

Four-year-old Addison runs into her father’s bedroom. Patrick was sprawled out on the bed, still fully clothed. She shakes his shoulder. “Daddy, wake up. Someone’s at the door,” she says. 

Patrick lets out a groan and sits up. He rubs his face and looks at the clock sitting on the nightstand. A loud knocking comes from the small apartment door. “Ads, I want you to stay in here and keep the door closed. Don’t open it.” 

“Okay.” 

Patrick grabs the gun off the top of the dresser. He closes the bedroom door and walks through the apartment. The TV was on, with cartoons on the screen. He cocks the gun and looks through the peephole. Patrick lets out a relived sigh and undoes the chains on the door. He places the gun in the back of his jeans and opens the door. John stood there, holding a car seat with a small bundle wrapped in a blue blanket in it and Dean stood in front of him. “John,” he disbelievingly asks. 

“Hey, Patrick,” John sadly replies.

Patrick ushers them inside the apartment and closes the door. He takes a moment to redo all the locks. “Let me get Addison.” John nods and motions for Dean to sit on the couch. Patrick opens his bedroom door and sees Addison in the middle of the bed, tightly clutching a pillow. “Ads, it’s okay. You can sit in the living room and watch cartoons with Dean.” Addison smiles and runs out of the bedroom. Patrick follows her. He enters the kitchen and sees John making a bottle. He looks at the car seat and sees the baby awake. “So, this must be little Sammy, huh? I was going to try and stop by Lawrence around Addison’s birthday. Where’s Mary?”

“She’s, uh...Mary’s dead,” John answers.

“What happened,” Patrick asks, sitting down at the table. He glances in the living room and sees Addison and Dean watching Scooby-Doo.

“I don’t know really. I went into Sam’s nursery and Mary was on the ceiling. Stomach cut open, then she burst into flames.” John sits down at the table with the bottle. He takes Sam out of the car seat and feeds him the bottle. “I took a psychic to the house. She told me that something evil happened. Then she told me about how ghosts and shit like that is all real. I mean, it’s been almost three months and I’m still trying to wrap my head around everything.”

Patrick nods. He takes a deep breath. “John, mate, I don’t know what to tell you.” 

“I know that whatever killed Mary wasn’t normal. And what the psychic told me, it made a hell of a lot more sense than anything else, Patrick. Mary was on the ceiling and she burst into flames.” 

“Well, this isn’t going to help with what killed Mary, but ghosts and every other nightmarish thing...they’re all real. I just got back a couple of hours ago from digging up the grave of a pissed off housewife who died in the ‘20s.”

John stares at him. “Are you insane?” 

“It’s the truth, John. Everything that goes bump in the night is real. And I hunt them, all over the country.”

John runs a shaky hand through his hair. “So, you’ve been traveling around the country, dealing with ghosts and other things?”

“Yeah. I work odd jobs wherever I am. Ads...she always stays at whatever apartment or motel room. After Juliet...doing this job, hunting, it’s the only thing that made sense to me.” 

“Can you help me out? With starting and everything?” 

“Yeah,” Patrick softly answers. “Yeah, I’ll help you. But only because if I don’t, then you’ll end getting yourself killed.” 

 

**1987**

Patrick climbs out of his newly acquired 1968 Mustang. It needed a little work done, but it ran good and it was cheap. He looks around the junkyard and at the faded blue house in front of him. “Daddy.” He turns to his eight year old daughter. “Where are we?”

“We are here to meet a man who supposedly has a copy of the book that I need,” Patrick explains as they walk up to the front door.

“Oh. Are we still going to Disney World?”

Patrick sighs. “Yes, Addison, we are still going to Disney World.” He knocks on the door and it opens to reveal a bearded man few years older than himself. “Bobby Singer?”

“Who’s asking,” the man replies.

“I’m Patrick Sloan. We talked on the phone a few days ago.” Bobby moves out of the way and Patrick lightly pushes Addison into the house. He notices the look on the other hunters face when he notices Addison. “This is my daughter Addison. Say hello to Mr. Singer, Addison.” 

“Hello,” Addison greets with a smile. “Daddy, I have to use the bathroom.”

“Upstairs, third door on the right,” Bobby answers. Addison nods and runs up the stairs. The hunter turn to Patrick who was examining his bookshelf. “So, you know John Winchester, huh?”

“Yeah,” Patrick replies. “You said you had a different translation of the Bible.” Bobby grabs a book on his desk and hands it over. Patrick was expecting a large, dusty book, that would be at least a couple hundred years old. Instead, this book was small and expertly maintained. But as Patrick flips through it, he could tell that it was very different from his own Bible. “How much?”

“Ain’t for sale,” Bobby replies. 

Patrick tenses as footsteps run down the stairs and Addison runs over to him. There was no way he was going to tell the man in front of him about that night eight years ago. “How about five hundred?” 

Bobby takes the Bible from him. “Like I said, it ain’t for sale."

“Look, if you won’t sale it to me, then at least let me borrow it for a couple of weeks.” 

“I don’t know you and I sure as hell don’t trust you, so, no.” 

Patrick runs a hand over his face. “Alright, well, thanks.” He grabs Addison’s hand and leads her out of the house. 

“You didn’t get your book, Daddy,” she asks.

He scoops her up and holds his daughter tightly against his chest. “No, you’re more important than a book, love.”


End file.
